


Dear Romeo

by dogbite_propaganda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Belting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Violence, Non-consensual punishment, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Slurs, Toxic Behavior, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-10-24 10:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogbite_propaganda/pseuds/dogbite_propaganda
Summary: Don't get to attached. It's like the story goes, we're both gonna end up dead.-A collection of Hydra Husbands (Sometimes + Winter and sometimes +Steve) requests from Tumblr





	1. It Never Had To Be Unrequited

**Author's Note:**

> I debated on whether or not I wanted to post these here too BUT I figured it'd be fun and maybe I'd get a few more requests lol  
Tags change often so please make sure to check them before reading new chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Not my idea, but I read it somewhere and I can't get it off my mind. Jack and Brock as friends since teenage years, Jack used to be as cocky as Brock, but then something happens (non-con/abusive parents) and Jack stoped talking everyone, anyways Brock stuck around and and kept hunging out with him. Years later they join Hydra, Jack's better and become the tough guy we all know, but the trauma is still there and Brock is always keeping an eye on him.
> 
> Chapter Relevant Tags: Mentions/Hints at abuse, Homophobic Slurs

Cartilage snapped in a sickening crunch as blood poured from his newly broken nose like an erupting geyser. Spitting it out onto the ground as it pooled against his lip, Brock glared daggers at his opponent. Some new kid with a quick tongue like Brock’s who was every bit as mean. He was taller, more gangly, but he was strong as an ox and stubborn as a mule. And his name was Jack Rollins. 

Most had thought that the two of them would be two peas in a pod with how similar they were, devious little smart asses that never knew how to quit while they were ahead. But Jack was patient, he was smart, he was everything Brock was and more. And Brock resented him for it. 

The two of them didn’t interact much before that day, in fact he was pretty sure they hadn’t spoken a word to each other. But something in Brock just snapped when he’d seen Jack encroaching on  _ his _ friend group. He didn’t want Jack anywhere near them, anywhere near him. So he smarted off, maybe insulted him a little bit, maybe punched him a few times to get him riled up. 

And that was how he’d ended up on the ground with Jack pinning him there, in the gravel of the bus lot, bombarding him with hit after well placed hit. Finally, Brock was able to free one of his arms and nail Jack in the ribs, effectively knocking the air out of him just long enough to shove him off. Just as the two of them were well on their way to jumping back on each other, the gym teacher and the football coach had them wrapped up. Jack had a bloodied lip to match Brock’s busted nose, both of them sporting black eyes as they sat next to each other in the principal’s office. 

Anger quelled in Brock’s gut. He was mad at the world, at their teachers, at  _ Jack _ . All of this was his fault, after all. And Brock was almost ready to pounce on him again when he stopped, hearing Jack speak to him for the very first time. 

“You gotta killer right hook.” His words were quiet, almost as if he was almost hoping Brock wouldn’t hear them. But he did, and he smiled, his teeth pink with blood tinged spit. 

“Yer not bad yerself.” Brock admitted, earning a cheshire grin from Jack. 

And that was how they became best friends. 

After that, the two of them were almost inseparable. Brock learned that Jack used to live outside of Telluride, Colorado, in the mountains with his dad. They moved to New York because of his stepmom, who had been a tourist there at one point but almost didn’t want to leave because of Jack’s father. So they moved with her because of her job. Jack said he didn’t really like the city, that there were too many people stacked on top of each other. That he missed the fifteen acres of land they used to live on and his dog, Noble, that they had to rehome when they moved to the city. 

In turn, Brock told Jack about how his nonna had moved to New York City from Procida. That his family went to Italy every year with her to visit other relatives and that he’d never been to the mountains before. Jack promised to take him there one day and Brock promised he’d take Jack to Procida.

Sophomore year went by like a breeze after that. As juniors, the two of them wreaked havoc and got kicked off of the baseball team when they dared each other to join just to piss off their coach with their constant goofing off. They got suspended for releasing pigeons into the teachers lounge and they dressed as cheerleaders for the homecoming football game to embarrass Brock’s sister. They spent nights on the roof of Jack’s apartment building, staring out at the city lights as Jack reminisced about the times he could look up at the stars and they fell asleep up there with nothing but their own bodies keeping them warm. And on weekends they would spend their time reigning chaos on the city in the form of being public nuisances. They would ride their skateboards on the sidewalks and pull pranks on tourists. And when they finally did settle down at home, Jack would lean on him and they’d watch movies while Brock ran his fingers through Jack’s hair. 

But somewhere during the summer from junior to senior year, Jack changed. 

When Brock got back from that annual trip to Italy, Jack was different. Suddenly he wasn’t as sharp tongued, he wasn’t as open to get up to their old antics, and worst of all, he started pushing Brock away. There were no more pranks, no more nightly trips to the roof of Jack’s building. They didn’t skate around the city anymore and Jack didn’t like it when Brock got too close. He tried to ask what was wrong but every time he did, Jack just said that he was growing up. That they were seniors and that they needed to start acting like it. 

So, they did. And when Jack told him that he was joining the Marines, Brock decided he would too. Because being in the military with Jack was better than being without him. 

They went through basic together, got deployed, ended up in the same barracks. Years past and they somehow managed to stick together. Every once in a while, Brock would try to ask Jack what had made him suddenly decide to go into the Marines and Jack would just shrug him off, telling him that it didn’t matter, and Brock always accepted this answer. 

It took a close encounter with an IED and an extended hospital stay for Jack to finally admit what was wrong. 

“When you went away that summer, my old man found out I was a fuckn’ queer.” Jack sighed, shifting beneath the uncomfortable sheets of the Norwegian hospital. “And he beat the shit outta me for it. Every day. And you were gone so I didn’t have anywhere to go. And it was just three months of hell that I couldn’t escape from.” 

A bitter silence hung between them for a long moment before Brock was finally able to look at Jack after hearing a quivering breath. Jack huffed a laugh out, trying desperately to reel in the emotions that he’d been bottling up for so many years. 

“And I wanted to hate you for it for so long, I tried to.” Jack shook his head, swiping a hand over his right eye. “But I couldn’t. ‘Cause somehow, after all these years and all this shit, I still love your dumb ass.” 

And that was their turning point. Slowly, Brock was able to pull Jack out of his shell again. It was hard to find all of the pieces, but when he did, he'd pick them up and put them back together. He did his damndest to make Jack whole. After Jack’s confession, the two of them got closer. Closer than they ever were in high school. Brock got protective, hovered over Jack like a worried mother hen, and over the years, Jack slowly became that person he remembered. 

That kid with piercing green eyes and a shit eating grin that begged to be challenged. 

They were an unstoppable force; Jack’s calm was the eye of Brock’s storm. They were the perfect balance of persistence and patience that put fear into the hearts of those who dared to cross them. They were deployed together, they rose through the ranks with each other. And eventually, Brock said  _ Hail Hydra  _ with Jack by his side. 

It was natural for them to stay together within the ranks of Hydra as well, Jack being Brock’s second in command on the STRIKE team just like he was everywhere else. Despite Brock being the commander, nothing happened without Jack’s say so. They worked together through thick and thin, two peas in a pod just everyone knew they would be. 

But time after time, Brock found himself eyeing Jack for any of those telltale signs that he was relapsing back into that insecure, self destructive state of mind that had plagued the both of them for so many years. There were times where it happened, where Jack closed up and wouldn’t speak to him. And on the cold nights when that happened, he took Jack out on a drive to the middle of nowhere. Where they’d lay in the bed of his truck and stare up at the stars that Jack had missed so much. And Brock would card his fingers through Jack’s hair just like he’d done when they were kids. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr Plug](https://c-aribeau.tumblr.com/)  
Note: These prompts are unbeta-ed, I promise to fix the mistakes I find
> 
> I hope this one was cute, it's a lot shorter than I'm used to writing but I figure most of these will be.  



	2. Temper Tantrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jack loses his medication and starts showing symptoms of a mental disorder during a mission, he becomes violent and Brock wanna stops him without hurting him.
> 
> Chapter Relevant Tags: Mental Health Issues, Fluff, Fluff and Angst

Only fifteen minutes in and Brock was pretty sure that airports were among some of the worst places on the planet. And this was coming from a guy who’d been in active war zones. It was loud,—even that early in the morning—their flight wasn’t going to leave for another two hours, and somehow everything was sticky. 

“Why couldn’t we just take the quinjet, again?” He yawned, trying and failing miserably to keep the whine from his voice. His commander looked back to Brock over his newspaper with a quirked brow and a smirk on his face that said, ‘_ is it really that bad?’ _

It was Commander Marcus Diaz’s final mission with STRIKE Team Alpha and he had one last lesson he wanted to teach Brock and his chosen Second in Command, Jack Rollins. 

“It’s an espionage mission, Rumlow. If we raise too much suspicion with an out of country aircraft, our target could go into hiding before we can get the information we want.” Diaz said patiently, as if Brock hadn’t asked the same question on two other occasions. 

Anxiety coursed through his veins, forcing his leg to bounce as they waited at the gatehouse. Somewhere behind him there was a baby crying and the only thing he could think of was that he’d lose his mind if they were on the same flight as that thing. Brock wasn’t opposed to people having kids, so long as the little crotch goblins stayed away from him. Even at his accomplished thirty five years of age, he wasn’t ready for kids. Wasn’t sure if he ever would be. So it was a good thing he was with Jack because that eliminated any and all possibilities of an “accident” happening. 

Glancing over, he watched as Jack fiddled with the hem of his sweatshirt, nervous energy seeming to radiate off of him in waves. And like responding to a signal from a beacon, Brock felt called to calm his partner. Leaning back in his chair, Brock quietly hooked one of his legs over Jack’s, ignoring it when the other glanced over at him but it seemed to settle him all the same. The two of them sat like that for the rest of the time they had to wait. 

Another thing for him to hate about airports was having to sit on the tarmac for another three hours with little to nothing to do because of “adverse weather conditions.” He could only scroll through his phone for so long without getting bored and instead, found himself asking Jack to read to him. Which Jack did happily.

Once the flight finally took off, Jack got drowsy rather quickly. He always did during transport, whether it be by car or quinjet, and Brock found that to be one of the most adorable things ever. But that left Brock with little to do. Diaz, of course, was booked in a first class seat that left the two lower ranking agents stuck in economy. It took everything in him not to smash his head through the window while having to deal with squealing toddlers and an obnoxious woman who was apparently able to complain about anything. 

By the time their flight landed and they pushed their way into yet another airport, they found themselves dealing with a rush period and getting out seemed to be just as hellish as getting in. He really wasn’t looking forward to the flight home on Sunday. 

Finding their bags was hard enough, the three of them standing at the claim for another thirty minutes just so they could stand outside for another hour waiting for the car to come pick them up. Brock thought that things would finally smoothen out at the hotel, but of course they didn’t. Because the second he stepped out of the bathroom he was hit with another strike of bad luck. 

“My lithium isn’t in here.” Jack said, a mild note of panic in his voice. Approaching, Brock tugged the backpack his way and dug through it himself. The two of them double then triple checked. But it wasn’t there. Emptying it all out, placing all of the contents neatly on the hotel bed for the fourth time, Brock sighed, running a hand through his hair as he shifted his weight to his right side. 

“You sure you packed it?” He asked and Jack just eyed him with frustration. 

“You know I did, you checked four times.” Jack grumbled and Brock found himself wrapping an arm around his partner’s shoulders, pulling Jack’s head to rest against his shoulder. 

“I know,” He murmured into Jack’s hair, thinking about what he was supposed to do. Jack _ needed _his medication. It regulated his mood, kept him from exploding like a hot glass filled with cold water. The thought crossed his mind to update Diaz on the situation but he quickly decided against it. He was going to be the commander soon and Diaz wouldn’t be there to fix the things that went wrong. Brock knew he’d have to do it himself. So with a determined huff, he pulled Jack away to look at him. “We’re gonna take care of this, alright? Two days. We got it, you’ll be fine.” 

There was a moment of silence that past where they stared at each other, a weariness in Jack’s eyes as he glanced back down to the empty backpack. Brock leaned over to pick up the remaining pill bottle, holding it between them as his hand slid down to rest comfortably against the back of Jack’s neck. 

“You trust me?” Brock asked. 

“Always.” Jack said automatically. The two of them had been through this song and dance plenty of times to know the outcome. But they went through it again anyways because it never failed to reassure both of them, no matter how many times they’d done it. 

“Good. It’ll be fine, you’ll take the Prozac for now, we’ll call your doctor first thing when we get home.” He said with a curt nod. Situations like those always called for Brock to take the lead. Jack was still just a kid. Just barely into his late twenties, only been on the STRIKE team for a year before Brock was told he’d been promoted. Jack had a lot to learn, a lot to be afraid of. Brock had to be the one to guide them through while Jack figured out how to handle these kinds of things. And so far, their system worked well for them. 

That night, Jack took his pill and things seemed to be relatively normal up until right after breakfast. Diaz was going over the briefing again, making sure they were all on the same page with how they’d be approaching their target. 

“I don’t want either of you interacting with the target at all,” Diaz specified just as he had when the mission had first been brought up to them. “You’re here for learning, nothing else. So just try to-”

“Be unobtrusive, yeah we got it.” Jack growled low, the snap in his voice unlike anything Brock was used to. 

“Jack,” Brock warned, being met with intense green eyes that felt like they were boring holes into his skull. Swallowing hard he glanced up to Diaz who was looking at him with a stern look of expectation and all he could do was cough out a nervous laugh. 

“He’s jus’ tired. Won’t happen again, sir.” He promised and Diaz nodded, continuing his briefing. All the while, Brock could see Jack clenching and unclenching his jaw, like he was gearing up for a fight. 

As the trio of them headed out the door he couldn’t stop himself from asking if Jack had taken his medication that morning, unsatisfied as he watched Jack nod. But there wasn’t really anything else they could do, he couldn’t take a double dosage, it would likely do more harm than good. They’d just have to muddle through the day. 

Meeting up with the target was simple enough, Diaz using a cover as some scientist. He paid Brock and Jack no mind, prodding the man with simple questions at first, likely to get his guard down. As they stood, Brock could see Jack’s breathing level out into something shallow, rapid as he glanced around, trying to keep his attention from focusing on anything in particular. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his chest puffed up in an aggressive way. All it would take was one off handed comment. One ever so generously supplied by their lovely target. 

“What’s with the big guy?” the target scoffed, his accent painting his words in an almost incomprehensible way. Diaz seemed to falter, glancing to Jack for a moment before brushing it off. 

“Resting bitch face, you know how it is.” He tried to laugh off, gaining a laugh from the target. 

“He’d bitch for me, that’s for sure.” 

And that was it, that was all it took for Jack to snap. Brock didn’t understand the slur of Russian that left Jack’s mouth as he shoved the man into the ground but he didn’t need to to know that it was nothing but a flurry of threats that Jack most likely intended to fulfill. 

_ ‘God fucking dammit!’ _ Brock’s thoughts screamed as he rushed forward, grabbing onto Jack’s raised fist. It took a minute for Brock to get Jack’s arm behind his back, his wrist between his shoulders, but he did it. Working his arm around Jack’s throat, Brock pulled his SIC back with as much strength as he was able. The hold was loose enough that Jack could probably get out of it if he was really trying to which was a definite weakness on Brock’s part. But he couldn’t bring himself to dislocate Jack’s shoulder or do anything that would actually hurt him. 

“Rollins, back to the car, _ now. _” Brock barked, his usual cool demeanor falling away as he shoved Jack toward aforementioned vehicle. Jack stared at him with a look of hurt, of confusion. But when Brock mouthed a silent 'please,' Jack did as he was told all the same. Brock followed suit, the two of them sitting in the back seat without a word. 

Silence laid over them in the form of a thick tension as they waited for their commander to return, hopefully being able to patch things up with the target. Brock could see the two of them laughing together before Diaz returned to the car so he figured things were just fucking peachy which confused him. Usually a high risk man such as their target wouldn’t be so easy to calm down, at least, not from his experience. But he brushed it off, much more concerned with the earful he knew they’d be getting from Diaz. 

And damn, was it a good one. Jack didn’t fuck up often, but damn when he did it sure was a spectical. Diaz was harping on them for a good two hours before he declared that he was going for a drink, that he’d decide on a punishment for Rollins at a later date. And then he just left the two of them alone to sit in the hotel room and stew in their thoughts. 

Jack had been quiet the whole time, staring at his hands in his lap. At first he still looked angry, like he was almost ready to fight again. But as time went on, regret blanketed his features and eventually, he looked up to Brock with those big, green, puppy dog eyes that just told him there was a guilty apology waiting at the tip of his tongue. Before he got the chance to say it, Brock pulled Jack into his arms, shushing him quickly as a bevy of _ ‘I’m sorry’s’ _ fell from Jack’s lips. 

“Hey, you’re okay, Jack. I gotcha, baby.” Brock sighed in his ear. Jack had a vice grip on the back of Brock’s shirt, to the point where he could’ve sworn he heard the fabric straining. But all he could do was focus on Jack. “Whatever happens, I’ll exonerate it. Okay? You’re gonna be okay, I promise.” 

With these words, Jack pulled back from him. His arms were shaking, eyes already reddened and dewy with tears that Jack refused to let fall. He shook his head and Brock stared at him, confused. 

“What if I fucked this up for you?” He asked, his broken voice hitched with remorse. Brock couldn’t keep himself from smiling a bit. 

“I’ll be fine,” Brock assured, pushing a few strands of stray hair from Jack’s eyes. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll take care’a both of us.”

Jack nodded, running a hand over his eyes as he calmed himself down. Somehow, he managed to get Jack to agree to take a shower and he sat there with his own devices, trying to figure out just how he would see his promise through. If Diaz reported Jack’s outburst to the higher ups, shit could hit the fan extremely quickly. Even in a commander’s position, he wouldn’t be able to do anything if someone higher than him ordered for Jack’s _ termination _. Brock shuddered at the word. If they worked for anyone but HYDRA that thought wouldn’t be quite as scary. But sadly, they didn’t and even worse, it was. 

Just then, the door opened and Brock instinctively caught the object that was tossed to him. Turning the little pill bottle over in his hands he immediately glanced up to look at Diaz. 

“You took it?” He asked, thumbing over the label that read _ lithium: 900mg. _Diaz shrugged a shoulder. Anger and confusion fused to create an awful bastard in his gut as he glared at his commander.

“You did good today, Rumlow.” Diaz said with a sigh, leaning against the doorframe and flicking his head toward the closed bathroom door. “On your mission.” 

“My mi-” He cut himself off, standing up and almost posturing the man. “I thought this was _ espionage. _ Gathering intel? The fuck does fuckin’ with Jack’s head have anythin’ to do with that?” 

Diaz only chuckled at the growl in Brock’s voice, shaking his head. Brock still wasn’t understanding. 

“It was a set-up, Rumlow.” Diaz finally said, readjusting his stance. “With high risk agents, such as Rollins, we need to know you can handle a situation quickly and efficiently. And you did. You really thought we were worried _ you _ wouldn’t be able to finesse information from a target?” 

Brock wished he could share Diaz’s amusement but he couldn’t, still confused on why they’d go through so much shit. He knew he could handle Jack, in every way, shape, and form. Meds or not, didn’t make a difference. Brock _ knew _ Jack, trusted him. Had it been him talking to the target, Jack would’ve never gotten involved. He shook his head again, shifting almost uncomfortably when Diaz placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Rollins is a valuable asset to the team. The two of you together are nothin’ short of unstoppable and we wanna keep you together but, we had to be sure you could manage your team.” Diaz sighed before straightening up. Brock nodded, still discomforted by how easily they’d played this off as a real mission. “Good to know you can do just that, Commander Rumlow.” 

With a wink and a mock salute, Diaz made his exit into his own room and Brock was left standing, alone. A small huff of relief left him. 

He’d be able to keep his promise after all. He and Jack would be just fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr Plug](https://c-aribeau.tumblr.com/)  
Note: These prompts are unbeta-ed, I promise to fix the mistakes I find
> 
> This one hit a little close to home :’)) I’ve personally struggled with Intermittent Explosive Disorder for a long time and this rq helped me vent a little so it was pretty comforting


	3. Await Further Instruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: After having an argument during a mission, Brock got drunk, handcuffed his SIC and showed him who was in charge (maybe you can add some whips with a belt as part of the punishment).Then Jack patiently waits the perfect moment to make Brock pay and when that moment finally arrives, he sends his CO through hell before forgiving him (inspired by [leviathanhomecooking's gifs set ](https://leviathanhomecooking.tumblr.com/post/187478751973) set of Alex and Abe)
> 
> Chapter Relevant Tags: Belting, Non-Consensual Violence, Non-Consensual Punishment, Mentions/Hints at past abuse

Reconnaissance missions had to single handedly be the absolute bane of Brock’s existence. They were slow, they were time consuming, and worst of all, they put strain on everyone involved. Especially Jack.

Brock tried to make sure their relationship was completely professional while working, none of their teammates needed to know. And they didn’t. And both of them liked it that way. It had its ups and downs but Brock hadn’t really seen much of a problem. Until they were assigned a reconnaissance mission, that is. 

And there they sat, Jack absentmindedly shaking his leg as he stared daggers at the facility before them. They’d gotten word on a man who allegedly had information on the whereabouts of the fabled Winter Soldier. Brock could hardly believe it when he’d first gotten the briefing from Pierce but, it was all true. The guy had apparently decided he had enough of HYDRA and thought the Russian Mafia would be able to protect him. But oh how wrong he was. Which was what lead to STRIKE Team Alpha hiding in the forests of Siberia, staking out the third secret building this man had business at. 

The chill in the air nipped at them as snow ate away at their clothes and Brock wondered how a place could still be so cold during the summer. Yet, somehow, Jack was laying on his stomach in the snow, staring at the building through a pair of binoculars to hopefully catch movement. Their target was due to be there anytime between ten a.m. and noon, which meant even more waiting on their part. It was nearly eleven and they’d all been there since five. Brock wanted to make sure there was little chance of them being seen, deciding that it would be best to get there before the sun came up, much to the team’s dread. 

Huffing, Brock crouched next to Jack, staring down the line to the building that was about two and a half kilometers away, down a steep slope and at the edge of a clearing that stretched out for miles.

“D’ you ever get cold?” Brock asked, trying to keep the shiver out of his voice. Jack didn’t flinch, keeping a steady position as a smirk crossed his face. 

“Not growin’ up with Colorado winters, I don’t. Bring me back here in December and see if I’m not cold then.” Jack quipped and Brock smiled. Jack was just easier to be with and Brock liked that. 

They all kept silent as the sound of snow crunching beneath tires alerted them. Ducking down beside Jack, Brock watched as well as he was able as a man stepped out from the car, seemingly alone. 

“That’s him.” Jack said quietly, putting his binoculars down the second the man disappeared behind the door. Standing, Jack dusted the powdery snow from his clothes before turning back to the rest of their team. 

“Alright, Decker, Reed, you’re with me. Lomack, I want security cameras online now. Keller, stay on standby. You’re our only medic while Blake’s out of commission. Barkley, you come along but I want you to keep your distance unless something happens.” Jack said as he picked up an extra clip for his gun before slinging a rifle over his shoulder. And the men moved, collecting the things they needed for the tasks given. 

“Woah, now, wait a second,” Brock said, a bit startled with how quickly Jack had decided to take control. “What’re you doin’?”

Everyone paused, Jack included. Brock stared at him, stabbing him with an expectant look before Jack just shrugged. 

“Gettin’ ready to go grab Andreyev. What else does it look like?” Jack chuckled and Brock only shook his head in a bit of disbelief. 

“We’re not goin’ in there. This is the Russian mob we’re talkin’ about and they are armed to the teeth.” Brock decided, standing up to look Jack in the eye better. “It’s too dangerous. We wait until next location”

The tone that left him was deep, commanding, and the exact opposite of helpful. Jack tilted his head in that way he always did when he was sizing up a challenge. And Brock was helpless to watch as Jack’s nose wrinkled briefly in that way it did when he was accepting. 

“We been scoutin’ this guy for six days, Rums.” Jack almost scoffed, gesturing to the rest of the team who were aptly deciding to avoid eye contact. “We’re all tired of waitin’ around. We’re goin’ in, this mission needs t’ end.” 

Pausing, Brock snorted a little as his hands found their way to his hips. Shifting his weight to his left side, he stared at Jack like he’d just said the stupidest shit in the world. 

“Listen, Jack, I dunno who the fuck you think you are but I’m your superior and right now I’m telling you to _ stand down _.” Brock warned. But Jack didn’t seem to care, his temper flaring as he reciprocated Brock’s annoyance. 

“This is bullshit. You told me I was on retrieval. You gave me a job to do, yeah? I’m tryin’ t’ do that but you’re not lettin’ me.” Jack growled, his voice raising as attitude flared through his words. Brock stared at him momentarily with wide eyes before he tried, and failed, to mask his irritation with a smirk. 

“Ya know,” He sighed, letting out a humorless laugh. “If I ever raised my voice like that to my CO, he would’a had the back of his hand across my mouth.” 

All was silent as a heavy tension blanketed the team. An agitated smile found its way over Jack’s features as he nodded, glancing to the side for a second before turning his glare back on Brock. 

“Oh yeah? Why not do the same?” Jack asked suddenly and Brock almost recoiled. He’d never even thought of hitting Jack before. Sure, they’d punch and shove each other around a bit, but it was all in good fun. Never aimed to hurt and certainly not aimed as a correctional tactic. Jack wasn’t some petulant child that needed to have the side of his face warmed to get a point across, at least, he never had been before. But during that moment, he almost seemed like it, and it put Brock off in a way that was beyond startling. 

Flexing his right hand, he watched as Jack’s gaze caught it and his SIC’s smile grew bitter as he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and taking another step forward. Brock didn’t move when Jack got closer, only tilted his head up to accommodate their height difference. 

“You wanna hit me, Rumlow?” Jack asked and Brock swallowed hard. It hurt that Jack would ever insinuate such a thing, that he’d think Brock could ever want to needlessly smack him around. Swallowing hard, he held his ground and straightened up a bit, setting his jaw as he stared into the green eyes he fell in love with that were slowly breeding resentment in his heart. Jack sniffed at the lack of answer, deciding to press further. “Do you want to hit me, _ Commander _ Rumlow?” 

Another bout of silence fell over them as they held each other’s glares. But eventually, Brock stood down, turning away with a low huff of _ ‘unbelievable’ _while Jack straightened up and cracked his neck. 

“That’s what I thought.” He sneered, turning to the rest of the team. The team themselves had simply gotten ready, keeping their heads down as they followed Jack’s orders to infiltrate. By then, Lomack had the cameras pulled up and was able to guide Jack through the facility, allowing him to subdue their target and get him back up the hill without incident. 

The operation was an overall success and Brock really shouldn’t have been as pissed as he was. But something about having Jack undermine him in front of the whole team just got on his bad side. It was humiliating and Brock had never experienced something like it before. Jack was usually so in line, so willing to comply on and off the clock. But not this time. Brock tried to excuse it, tried to just blame it on the amount of time they’d been sitting out in the cold, tried to justify that they’d been out on that mission for nearly a week and that they all wanted to go home, but nothing he came up with soothed his anger. Forgiving Jack’s insolence wasn’t going to work for him. Something needed to be done. 

***

After a week of planning, Brock had finally decided on a punishment for Jack. it was simple, but it would work well enough to get his point across. 

At nearly midnight, Brock had caught Jack off guard. It’d been a rough day, he had his ass chewed out by Cap for getting too aggressive during a practice spar and really wanted nothing to do with anyone. That was until Brock told Jack to meet him the STRIKE Team locker room “after hours.” For Jack, that was after five, but for Brock it could be anywhere between five in the afternoon and three in the morning. Sometimes being a commander just had its downsides. 

Lucky for him, all it took to keep Jack’s attention was the promise of getting his dick wet. Brock remembered being Jack’s age. Twenty nine and still excited to chase any tail that sniffed in his direction, enjoying the last year of his twenties before he felt like he had to grow up all the way. Brock had stopped hooking up when he turned thirty three, deciding that his job was more important than trying to find someone to replace his right hand. Then he met Jack and for once, found himself getting chased. 

One thing he’d learned in the four years he’d known Jack was that the younger man liked adventure. He liked surprises and being taken off guard, a big contrast to Brock’s lament for the unexpected. But it worked in his favor sometimes. 

When Jack finally realized he was handcuffed to the old heater, he was more intrigued than anything else. He tested his binds, pulling against the solid metal and listening to the scratching noises the chain of the cuffs made against the column of the radiator. He looked up at Brock with the questioning tilt of his head as he knelt there, trusting green eyes doing there best to make Brock already regretted his decision. 

“Look at the wall. Await further instruction.” Was all he said, his voice lacking the sense of command he originally intended to achieve. But Jack did it anyway. Jack kept still as Brock did his best to tear open the back of his shirt. The fabric gave way, exposing the blackwork beneath. Brock had seen the tattoo before; ink of a raven and a barn owl mid fight that spanned across the expanse of his shoulders. When Brock had asked, Jack said something about two kinds of death fighting one another but he hadn’t really been paying attention. 

Undoing his belt, Brock watched as Jack perked up at the clinking of the buckle. Gears began to turn in Jack’s mind and once again he tugged at the cuffs, this time with a bit more urgency. But he didn’t turn around. Taking a deep breath, Brock looped the belt around to hold both ends in his hand, willing himself not to hesitate. 

“So you do wanna hit me.” Jack said indignantly, his voice quiet but not surprised. The way he reacted almost seemed as if he’d seen this situation coming. Brock debated on whether or not he should say anything. Jack wasn’t stupid, he knew how to put two and two together and he knew, in that moment, that he was being punished. A whole monologue wasn’t going to help any so instead, Brock decided to keep it short. 

“Didn’t think I’d let insubordination slide, did’ja?” He asked but Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he bowed his head a bit, squaring his shoulders and readying himself for the beating. The way he reacted felt too prepared, like it was something that came naturally like riding a bike and Brock tried not to think too hard on it. Instead, he did the one thing he’d never done with Jack before. He followed through. 

The first lash wasn’t as hard as he’d planned and Jack didn’t really seem to be phased. The second was a bit harder and by the third, Brock had a good handle on how much force he wanted to use. Just enough to leave a welt, nothing that would break skin. 

He lost count after thirty, his anger taking over as he let himself take it out on Jack’s exposed skin. A part of him had the idea of pulling his SIC’s tact pants down and lowering his strikes in an attempt to give Jack the same feeling of humiliation he’d gotten but decided against it. There was a better way. 

At some point, one end of the belt had fallen from his hand and he hadn’t noticed until Jack coughed out a startled cry. Throughout the entire thing he’d been relatively silent. HYDRA taught him the whole _ order through pain _ ideal that it had Brock so it was a bit of a surprise to get a vocal reaction from him. That’s when he’d noticed that he wasn’t holding onto the buckle anymore. 

Looking up again, he spotted a long gash that spanned from just beneath Jack’s rib cage on the right side, across his back and ending above his left hip. The corner of the metal buckle glistened red with blood and that was when Brock decided Jack’d enough. 

“Next time,” Brock huffed, catching his breath as he watched Jack’s chest heave, slow and steady, while he dropped his head to rest against the cool metal of the dormant radiator. “You’ll remember this ‘fore you smart off to me on a mission, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jack grunted and Brock cleared his throat. 

“Excuse me?” He growled and Jack huffed, swallowing hard and biting his already bloodied lip. 

“Yessir.” 

With that, Brock dug the keys to the cuffs from his pocket. Jack’s eyes glinted with something akin to relief before that look died when he watched Brock toss them out of reach. 

“Have a good night, Rollins.” He said, turning on his heel to head out. 

The rest of the team found Jack the following morning, dark circles under his eyes, welts and bruises painting his back almost as dark as the ink on his shoulders. But they all knew what it was and no one said a word to Brock about it. Jack went through his day as normal, if not stiffly. 

And things could go back to normal. 

***

Things were supposed to go back to normal. He thought they had but apparently he was wrong and all he could do was kick himself for being so stupid. 

He’d been walking home from the bar that night. Kind of drunk. Usually that wouldn’t have stopped him but the bartender took his keys and told him she’d give them back to him in the morning. It wasn’t that far of a walk and he thought that when he got to his apartment that everything would be fine. The STRIKE Team wasn’t on call that weekend so he had more than enough time to nurse his hangover the next day and he planned on calling Jack to make amends. But things didn’t go as planned, per usual. 

After he stepped in the door, the next thing he knew was that he was on the floor, pressed against the bar in front of his kitchen for support. The new position had him sobering up quiet fast and he glanced up just in time to be disoriented by a boot to the side of his head. His attacker crouched beside him, blocking the light that had previously blinded him, and Brock finally glanced up. 

It shouldn’t have shocked him to see Jack but, there he was, taken completely off guard. 

“Hey, Rums.” Jack said quietly, reaching behind himself to tug something from behind him. The second he heard the metal clink together he knew what it was but it felt all too sinister to see the light glint against the silver of the handcuffs. The insides of the cuffs were still spotted with the dried blood from Jack’s wrists, the product of him pulling on them too tight during their little session. Brock could see that the cuts were healing nicely, the week old wounds nearly gone. 

“Remember these?” Jack asked, a grin crossing his face as he did. Brock couldn’t help the sigh that left him as he slumped further against the side of the bar, eventually dropping his head, oddly similar to the way Jack did a week prior. 

Jack seemed all too thrilled with this, watching Brock grow more helpless by the minute. And finally, a chuckle left him as he nodded, eyes glinting with the promise of vengeance while he spoke again, a single word confirming Brock’s horrors. 

“Yeah…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr Plug](https://c-aribeau.tumblr.com/)  
Note: These prompts are unbeta-ed, I promise to fix the mistakes I find
> 
> Not gonna lie I've been wanting to write something for this gif set for a while but couldn't find the inspo. So glad though, it was fun writing something a little darker for a change pff  
I lowkey forgot to add the "Brock getting drunk" part before Jack's punishment but it's okay I guess?? I'm too tired to fix it lol


	4. The Fire Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jack mashed between Steve and Brock would be awesome XD. Make him the filling of a "what the fuck is going on" sandwich.
> 
> Chapter Relevant Tags: Fluff

Heat. Fiery, immobilizing heat clung to his body just as tightly as the sweat covering him did. 

He didn’t remember what he was doing before he fell asleep, all he knew was that right now there was an immeasurable heat immersing him, nauseating him. It took a few seconds for Jack to figure out how to get his arms to work, but when he did, he pushed himself up and took a deep breath, sighing in relief as the cool night air soothed his burning skin. He brought a hand to his right eye, pressing his palm into the socket in an attempt to quell the headache that throbbed from within to no avail. Pain reliever… he needed pain reliever. But when he went to slide out of bed, he noticed that he couldn’t. There was a body in the way.

“What the fuck?” Jack mumbled, shifting to glance to the occupied space. Brock usually slept on the other side of the bed. When he looked to said other side, he found that space was also taken and he had to do a double take to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Disoriented, Jack had to stop and thing. To breathe. What exactly happened last night? 

The team had gotten back from a mission. It wasn’t very long, only a couple of days, but they went for drinks when they’d gotten home anyways. The night was normal until Brock got shit faced and tried getting into a fist fight with Rogers. That was when Jack’d decided they needed to go home but Brock insisted that Steve came with them so he could “show Rogers how a real man fights.” Jack tried to convince him that Steve didn’t need to tag along but Brock stood firm and Jack relented. Once the three of them were back at the apartment, Jack had gone to turn the shower on, to warm it up, and when he got back, he found Brock with his tongue half-way down Steve’s throat. From what he’d seen, Steve didn’t really mind even if he acted like he did once Jack cleared his throat. 

After Jack finally coaxed Brock into the shower, he told Steve it was fine for him to leave. Of course, being Mr. Righteous and all, Steve desperately apologized. Jack shrugged it off, stating that it was all fine. Not because he believed Steve wouldn’t do it again given the chance but because he knew if Brock was sober, it wouldn’t have happened at all. He remembered Steve roping him into a conversation and a bottle of bourbon being broken out. That’s when things started getting fuzzy. He remembered the press of unfamiliar lips against his own, remembered a hand in his hair that pulled his head back, remembered Brock’s teeth on his throat while Steve’s mouth found his chest.

Everything clicked in place and it took him a minute to process that he and Brock’d fucked Captain America. The saying  _ ‘keep your enemies closer’ _ crossed his mind, but he wasn’t sure that’s what it meant. As he tried, once again, to slide out of bed, he felt an arm latch around his waist and pull him back down. The touch was gentle, almost as if asking, and that was his first clue that it wasn’t Brock. When he finally lowered himself back down, he met the foreign blue of Steve’s eyes. It hardly registered in his mind that they were sharing a kiss until after Steve’s tongue ran across his bottom lip and Jack willed himself to pull away. 

“I can’t” He mumbled, glancing over his shoulder to a deathly still Brock. That alone hinted to him that Brock was awake. But either Steve didn’t hear him or wasn’t listening, instead leaning in to press his mouth against Jack’s neck, quick to suck and bite bruises into the skin. Jack shifted, discomfort rising in his stomach as he pressed a hand against Steve’s chest who seemed to get the message. There was a beat of silence between them before Steve huffed.

“‘M sorry.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around Jack’s body to pull him close. “It’s just been so long.” 

Something ached in his chest and Jack couldn’t bring himself to push further. It was late, he was tired, and if all he had to deal with was a bit of snuggling from Captain America, then he considered himself lucky. At some point, he’d reciprocated the embrace he was trapped in, raking his hand gently through blonde hair. With no other choice, he decided that the only way for him to ease the throbbing in his skull would be to fall asleep again. And he was so close, too. Until a second pair of arms snaked around his waist and he felt the scratch of Brock’s stubble against the back of his neck. 

“Yer’ a lucky bastard, Rogers.” Brock mumbled, his voice heavy and grating with sleep. The way that never failed to pull a shiver down Jack’s spine, this time being no exception. “I don’t usually let other men touch my Jack.” 

Unable to help himself, Jack keened at those words while Brock’s hand found a gentle grip against his throat. Finally, something recognizable, something safe. That was the odd thing, about Brock. Before they met, Jack’s body would respond to almost any gentle touch. It didn’t take much to get him off and it took even less to get him hard. But once Brock came along, Jack stopped wanting anyone else. It was almost scary how much control Brock had over his mind and body, but Jack trusted him. 

In front of him, Steve shifted, his head nuzzled firmly beneath Jack’s chin while Brock’s head rested on his shoulder. With a sigh, he leaned back against Brock, his hands still wrapped around Steve’s body, and all he could do was wonder how the hell he got himself stuck in the middle of the two of them. 

But he figured, there were worse ways to wake up. And he figured that as he fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr Plug](https://c-aribeau.tumblr.com/)  
Note: These prompts are unbeta-ed, I promise to fix the mistakes I find
> 
> This prompt just clicked with me, I dunno why. But it's gentle and soft and I live for that shit. It's waaaaay shorter than what I usually write but, it was nice to complete something. I haven't gotten any of my recent wips finish so this was super refreshing ahh


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